


Lupercalia

by RosalindInPants



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Flogging, Frotting, Hand Jobs, Lupercalia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Santi is good at everything, good things can happen in Rome too, nervous inexperienced Wolfe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22834861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindInPants/pseuds/RosalindInPants
Summary: Young Wolfe and Santi are in Rome for Lupercalia, and there's only one way to celebrate properly: with flogging!
Relationships: Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Lupercalia

Wolfe considered the possibility that he might be in over his head. This was, by no means, his first festival. It wasn't even his first _disorderly_ festival. He'd grown up in Alexandria, after all, and Hathor knew he'd always enjoyed himself at the Festival of Drunkenness.

Nor was it his first time in Rome. He'd been twice now, and knew his way around the Forum and its surroundings well enough.

Or, at least, he did when those streets and plazas weren't packed with revelers. Loud, drunken, running, and, in far greater numbers than he would have expected, stark naked revelers. With whips.

He'd known, in theory, what the celebration of Lupercalia entailed. There were the rites in the Lupercal and the running of Luperci priests armed with __februa__ through the streets. There was the drinking and celebrating and matchmaking. He even knew, thanks to Nic, about the concurrent celebration of the Catholic Saint Valentine, which was supposed to be a quieter affair, but often turned into flamboyant public displays of courtship and drunken revelry. Romans were, after all, Romans. Whichever god they followed, they would find an excuse to get noisily drunk.

But he hadn't quite understood just how many Romans considered themselves Luperci, at least on this day. He could hardly take a step in the packed street without bumping into someone stripped bare and wielding a strap of goat hide. In honor of the occasion, he'd gone shirtless, but he kept his Scholar's robe on and fastened in the front. Nic had warned him that a bare back would be considered an invitation to strike.

And he truly hadn't understood just how broad an array of implements of flagellation could be considered __februa__ in this current age. Around the Forum, the local Garda enforced the regulation that only the traditional strips of freshly cut goatskin were to be used, but once one ventured a few streets away from the priests' traditional route, the selection quickly became more eclectic. On just this one table before him, the goatskin _februa_ were accompanied by long braided bullwhips and many-tailed floggers, whips of silk and rope and leather, all spread out in the open for anyone to simply walk up and purchase. This particular merchant was quite popular; bodies pressed close around Wolfe, examining the wares, and voices shouted back and forth across the table, haggling.

The prices seemed reasonable enough. Wolfe let his eyes linger on a black leather flogger, considering what it might feel like on his skin and in his hand. He could afford to satisfy that curiosity easily on a gold band Scholar's salary.

_Go on and choose something to play with_ , Nic had said before he disappeared into the crowd to find a wine merchant. _Anything you like._ He could still feel Nic's hands on his waist, Nic's lips on his. He should have worn looser trousers.

He let his hand wander over the tails, soft to the touch. He lifted the handle, testing the balance, the weight. He felt more than a little foolish; he knew how to handle these things only in theory. In practice, they'd found a great deal of enjoyment in Nic's belt, but nothing more. Nothing like this beautiful piece of leather work, at once soft and heavy.

"A good choice there, Scholar. Goatskin, very traditional. Very gentle, too, not too harsh, just a little bite. Good to start out with."

Wolfe looked up, starled, to see the merchant, a curvy and short-haired Italian in a leather corset, smiling at him. Blood rushed to Wolfe's cheeks. Was he that obviously a beginner? At a loss for words, desperately hoping he'd been getting enough sun that the blush wouldn't show, Wolfe reached for his wallet. "I'll take it," he said, immediately cursing himself for the clumsy phrasing. He'd as good as said that he wanted to be struck with the thing.

He should have haggled over the price. No merchant in Rome ever quoted an honest price the first time. But he needed to get away from that table before he started babbling like a fool about how of course he would be doing the hitting, and he just wanted to partake in the local traditions, and whatever other absurdities might come out of his mouth.

Tucking the handle of the flogger he'd just overpaid for into his belt, beneath the cover of his robe, Wolfe pushed his way out into the street to seek out his lover. While the crowd pressed thick around the merchants' carts and tables, there was a clear lane open down the middle. Not quite enough room for a steam carriage to pass comfortably through, but wide enough to accommodate the packs of Luperci that ran periodically down the street, swinging their _februa_ at anyone who came within reach.

A chorus of shouts heralded the arrival of the next such pack, coming from behind Wolfe, and he took a few steps back from the edge of the crowd while others surged forward to receive their blows, a strange tide of humanity. The wave of sound and bodies crested as the Luperci passed by in a storm of slapping feet and snapping leather, shrieks of mock terror and squeals of glee. And there, as it receded around him, he saw Nic.

Neither advancing nor retreating, Nic stood just a short way down the street from Wolfe, on the opposite side. Stripped to his underwear - his very short, very tight, very Italian underwear - he looked as radiant as ever. It was no surprise that the Luperci ran straight for him, _februa_ swinging. He turned halfway, offering his shoulder, laughing as the blows landed. Wolfe could hear that laugh as if all the crowd had gone silent.

The Luperci ran on, and Wolfe surged across the street, burning with jealousy and hating it. Nic was his lover, not his property. They weren't married. They didn't even live together. There was no cause at all behind the feeling that only he should be allowed to touch that gorgeous, sun-browned skin. It was part of the festival, nothing more. They hadn't even hit hard enough to leave a mark.

Seeing that helped, somehow. Pulling Nic into the nearest alley for a fiercely possessive kiss felt even better. With his nails on Nic's back and his tongue down Nic's throat, he drowned his jealousy.

Nic returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, reaching around to embrace Wolfe with a hand that clutched a bottle of wine, the smooth, cool glass pressing into Wolfe's back. His other hand patted the bulge of the flogger at Wolfe's waist, and he hummed a question into Wolfe's mouth.

Wolfe swatted his hand away. "Not until we're back at the room." There was only so far he was willing to go in public.

"I have a better idea," Nic said, smiling the secretive, private smile that he reserved for Wolfe. "Come on."

Sufficiently intrigued to indulge his lover's whim, Wolfe allowed himself to be taken by the hand and led through a labyrinth of alleys. He wouldn't know this part of the city without his Codex, but Nic did, having explored the city's less known parts with his brother on family trips.

They ended up at the back door of a church, of all places. Looking up, Wolfe realized that he recognized its distinctive bell tower, and his stomach sank as he wondered whether he might have misunderstood his lover's intentions. This was Santa Maria, the church that housed Saint Valentine's skull. But no, there was that devious grin on Nic's face as he opened the door and ushered Wolfe inside.

"Trust me," Nic whispered, wrapping an arm around Wolfe's waist and guiding him along the wall toward an open doorway.

There was a service going on, Wolfe realized. A wedding. He could hear the priest reciting the Latin words, the buzz of excited conversation, voices echoing off the walls. But of course there would be weddings today, in honor of a saint famous for performing so many.

"If you have some grand proposal in mind, Niccolo..." he whispered, shooting his lover a threatening glare.

But Nic only smiled and winked.

Through the doorway there were stairs, winding upward. The bell tower. They were in the bell tower. Nic started climbing, and Wolfe followed.

He was winded by the time they stopped, maybe six stories up, on an open level that looked out on the streets below, where the festivities of both Lupercalia and Saint Valentine's Day continued. Crowds and parades and Luperci, loud enough that the sound carried even to this high place. Wolfe looked down on it all, at once dizzy and delighted.

Coming up behind him, Nic wrapped his arms around Wolfe's waist. "We have this place to ourselves," he murmured, nuzzling Wolfe's ear. "No one ever comes up here while services are going on. Automata ring the bells. We can do anything you want to do." He reached again for the flogger, and this time, Wolfe let him take it.

"It's goatskin," Wolfe said, turning to face his partner as Nic stepped back to test the swing of the flogger. "Since we're in Rome..."

"We ought to do as Romans do?" Nic trailed the tails of the flogger over his hand, licking his lips. There was something frighteningly alluring in the way he handled it. Beautiful, dangerous competence. Holding the flogger in both hands, he met Wolfe's eyes. "Would you like to be the first to use it? Or do you want to know how it feels first?"

He wanted both of those things so much that his chest tightened and ached. The smoldering embers of his jealousy urged him to take the flogger from his lover's hands and strike every beautiful inch of Nic's body to leave no doubt that Nic was his. Curiosity, though, burned hotter. He wanted to know what the goatskin would feel like. Gentle, the merchant had said, but with a bite. The leather was softer than Nic's belt, but the shape of it looked so much more like a weapon. So many tails on such a sturdy handle. Intimidating in a way that made his cock twitch.

It was the rational thing to do, he told himself. Nic had done this before, so he should let Nic show him how it was done. And oh, how the thought of that made him even harder. He gave Nic a hungry grin, all the confidence he put into his expression belied by the soft, breathless sound of his voice when he said, "I haven't done this before." He inwardly cringed at the complete idiocy of that statement. They both were fully aware of one another's intimate experiences. Or lack thereof.

Nic's smile softened. "I know," he said, not just an acknowledgement of Wolfe's words, but of his all too obvious emotions. Shifting the flogger to his left hand, Nic stepped in to put his right hand on Wolfe's shoulder, holding Wolfe steady while he leaned in for a kiss. Slow and gentle, but ending with a bite to his lip that promised more to come. "Let me teach you."

"Please." Knees already feeling weak, Wolfe allowed Nic to back him toward the nearest pillar. The support of cool stone against his back came as a welcome relief as Nic trailed his hand down Wolfe's chest to open the clasps of his robe.

"First, a review," Nic said, pulling the robe open. "This is, in some ways, not so different from what we've done with the belt. Can you tell me where the safe places to strike are?" As he spoke, he ran his hand over Wolfe's chest, so light and slow Wolfe thought he might cry.

"There." Wolfe's voice trembled, and he paused to drag in a breath and steady himself, no easy task with Nic's fingers on his nipple. "The chest is safe in moderation. Thighs as well. For heavier impact, the safest places are the upper back and buttocks." Someday, he would be able to speak of that part without blushing. Someday, but not today.

Close as they were, Wolfe had no hope that Nic wouldn't see that blush. Even if it had been the middle of summer, he couldn't tan _that_ dark. But Nic didn't tease; he only gave Wolfe a gentle kiss on his burning cheek and put both hands on Wolfe's shoulders to turn him around.

As he turned, Wolfe could see out past the pillar and the waist-high wall that encircled the tower at this level, a clear view over the rooftops of houses and shops, straight to the Forum with its towering statues of the Roman gods. The tails of the flogger, still in Nic's left hand, tumbled down over Wolfe's chest in a soft fall of fragrant leather that made him shiver with anticipation. 

"Correct," Nic said, soft and seductive, grasping the collar of Wolfe's robe. "I think you'll like how this feels on your back. Can I get your robe out of our way?"

"Yes." Wolfe let his arms hang loose, allowing Nic to strip away his robe in a teasing slide of silk. Cool air prickled his skin, and he shivered, feeling exposed, a feeling that only intensified as Nic guided his arms up to brace against the pillar. None of the people that packed the streets below even looked up, and they could hardly have seen him if they had, but he still had the sense of being on display.

He supposed he was. On display for Nic, who sounded as if he was enjoying the sight before him. "That's it, lean into it, let it support you. If you feel unsteady, tell me." Nic's hand, firm and strong, pushed against Wolfe's legs and hips, testing his balance. When he was satisfied, he moved up to brush Wolfe's hair forward over his shoulders and out of the way, continuing his lecture as he worked. "There are, of course, other options for positioning. This can be done lying down or kneeling. Or restrained."

Restrained. Just the thought of it made a moan of desire slip from Wolfe's lips. He could just imagine how it would feel to be cuffed to the bed while Nic flogged him. Or to see Nic in that same position.

Nic kissed the back of Wolfe's neck. "Yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you? But I want you loose and on your feet for this. One thing at a time." He rubbed Wolfe's back in broad circles, leaning in close to kiss Wolfe's neck and shoulders. "Relax. We're going to start nice and easy."

Wolfe rolled his shoulders, willing away the nervous tension that hummed beneath his skin, brought to the surface by the feel of Nic's strong, firm hand on his back. In mere moments, that hand would strike him. What could Nic do to him with that strength? Curiosity, fear, and arousal all fluttered together in his guts, and he looked up, out at Rome. There was a parade winding down the street. Drums and horns loud enough to hear from the bell tower. Dancers in brightly-colored costumes whirling in pairs. Couples newly matched by one of the matchmaking groups, perhaps. Impossible to be sure from so high up.

A lingering kiss between Wolfe's shoulder blades, and Nic's hand withdrew, replaced a moment later by soft leather. The tips of the flogger's tails danced lightly over Wolfe's skin, tickling, teasing. "As you can see, a flogger can create many sensations," Nic said. "It can tease, it can caress, it can massage, and it can bite. Tell me, love, what do you want to feel?"

Each word kindled a new flame of desire deep within. Like the Scholar he was, Wolfe had read every text he could uncover that might unlock the mystery of the pleasure he took from carefully applied pain. He knew the physics of what Nic would do to him, the biology of how his body would respond. But no treatise on the production of endorphins or equation of the distribution of force could tell him precisely what he would feel when leather met skin. No romance could be trusted to be accurate. Some things could only be learned from experience. "All of it. I want to feel everything." He groaned out the words, yearning overwhelming all dignity.

No sense in holding onto any pride now. Not when he stood waiting to come undone by the flogger in Nic's hand.

"Such a greedy man you are, my Christopher," Nic said, so close Wolfe could feel his lover's breath on his ear. Slowly - so very slowly - he drew the leather tails up and down Wolfe's back, maddeningly gentle. "But what if you feel something you don't like?"

Damn Nic to his Christian hell for asking Wolfe to repeat rules they both knew perfectly well. "I ask you to stop, or I move out of position," he snapped. "Do you intend to tease me all day?"

"Oh, I think you might enjoy that, too." Nic punctuated the statement with a nip to Wolfe's ear before taking a step back. "But not today. I promised a lesson, and a lesson you shall have. Are you ready to learn about the more forceful applications of this implement?"

Wolfe could hear the tails of the flogger slapping against Nic's hand as Nic spoke, and he thought he might go mad if he had to wait much longer to feel that slap himself. "Yes. Damn you, Nic, take a swing at me."

"Of course, my dear Scholar. I am at your service." There was an infuriating note of amusement in his tone. "First, a warm up."

The seconds it took for Nic to raise his arm and swing seemed the longest in Wolfe's life. He took in the view of Rome, the riotous tide of revelry flowing around its ancient stones, and he let out the breath he knew better than to hold.

A whistle of leather drowned out the music of the parade, ending in the thunderclap of impact. The sound was louder than the sensation. It was, as the merchant had said, gentle. A brisk slap like one might give in the course of a massage to stimulate blood flow, but more widely spread. Certainly not so hard as Nic would strike with the belt, or even his hand. But there was a delicious hint of sting to it, and, oh, how Wolfe wanted more of that.

He didn't have to wait long. The second blow landed on the other side of his back, a mere moment later, just as soft, just as promising. And then another, right over the first. And another. And another. Strokes like marching footsteps, like drumbeats, on and on. Wolfe felt himself sinking into the rhythm of it, his eyes drifting shut as he let the novel sensation take the whole of his attention. Warmth spread across his back where the goatskin landed. Little prickles of pain danced over his skin in the flogger's wake.

"Now, as you get comfortable, I can go a little harder," Nic said over the steady rhythm of slapping leather. "I'm going to build up nice and slow, and if you're feeling good, I'll try some different strokes. This one is a basic overhand. It's the first one I'll teach you when you take a turn on me."

That was a pleasant thought. Nic standing behind him, Nic's hands over his, guiding him through the motion. Nic standing before him, his strong back stretched out and ready. The images lingered in Wolfe's mind only until the next blow of the goatskin landed, harder now, driving his focus back into his body. An increase in force brought a corresponding increase in sting, Wolfe noticed. He'd expected as much, but more interesting was the way the heat on his skin seemed to sink deeper in with each blow. Interesting. He'd thought Nic spoke in metaphor when he said the flogger could massage, but the effect was more similar than he would have thought. Did his muscles relax because the rhythmic strokes relaxed his mind? Or did the firm impact of leather and penetrating heat do the job? Fleeting flights of curiosity. Each thought lasted only until the next stroke came.

"Chris? How is this?"

The question came between one stroke and the next, and he answered with the sting of leather turning his voice to a thoroughly indecent moan. "Mmm. Good. Harder." He might have formulated a deeper analysis to support those inarticulate words, but the next stroke came, harder, just as he'd asked, redirecting his thoughts.

Analysis could come later. It was time to feel. Another impact. A good bite to this one, pain that raced like lightning between clouds along his nerves. Somewhere along the way to his cock, it translated to pleasure. The same delicious throbbing he felt there when Nic fucked him. Increasing pressure without release. He wondered, briefly, if it was possible to reach orgasm from this alone.

More strokes of the goatskin. Harder, faster. Nic had changed the way he was swinging it, Wolfe thought. This was better. More intense. The sound of it seemed to echo, and with it, his own breathing, hard and fast in time with the flogger's impacts. Over that, moans that would have embarrassed him just minutes ago. They sounded like music, now. A melody to accompany the drumbeat of the flogger.

Even more musical was Nic's voice. Warm, affectionate, speaking Italian. "You're doing very well. Almost there, love. Just a little more."

Almost there? Almost where? Wolfe could feel the pressure building. The heat. The sting. Building toward what? He didn't know. But he wanted to. Gods, he wanted to. He felt like a jar of Greek fire on the edge of a shelf, ready to tip over and burst into flame.

"Please, Nic, please." He didn't even know what he was begging for, but he wanted it more desperately than he had wanted anything in his life.

Two more strokes, the hardest of all, as hard as anything Nic had ever done with his belt, no, harder. Pain, real pain, just at the edge of his tolerance. Wolfe heard himself cry out as it shot through his body and bloomed into euphoria.

Floating. He was floating. His legs went boneless beneath him, and he was falling, but he didn't care. He felt far too good to care.

Nic caught him. Strong arms around his waist. A broad, firm chest against his back, searing hot to his sensitized skin. Gods, that felt good. Soft lips on his neck. Gentle words. Praise, he thought. In the haze of sensation, he couldn't hold onto their meaning.

A hand in his trousers, pulling out his cock. The brush of a thumb over the head.

He groaned, whined, would have begged if he'd had enough sense to form words.

Nic tightened his grip, pumped his hand.

Wolfe felt himself burst, consumed by fire.

Eventually, the flames died down. Eventually, he could feel the boundaries of his own body again. Somehow, he was still on his feet. Nic held him close, murmuring soothing words in Italian.

"Relax, my love. You did well. I am here. I will take care of you. All you need to do is rest. Deep breaths. That's it. Relax."

By all the gods of Egypt and beyond, Wolfe loved Nic's voice. Especially when he spoke Italian. It occurred to Wolfe that he ought to tell Nic that, but when he opened his mouth only an incoherent moan emerged.

Nic's arms tightened a little around him. "There you are," Nic said. "Feeling all right?"

"Mmm. Yes." He could manage one word. That was possible. He could shift a little in Nic's arms, press his back tighter against Nic. That felt good. A nice, warm ache.

He needed that warmth, he realized. The breeze drifting through the tower had turned chillier. Paying attention to it made it worse, and a shiver ran through him.

"Getting cold, aren't you?" Nic asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "Don't worry; it's normal. I'd have you wrapped up already, but I thought you'd want to see the priests coming from the Lupercal. Open your eyes, love, they're coming now."

Wolfe did as his lover said. He always did, in this state. The first thing he noticed was that they'd moved, turned so that Nic's back rested against the pillar, holding both their weight. All his senses seemed sharper. He smelled lichen on the stone pillar. Heard music from far below. He could feel every hair on Nic's chest. All the colors were brighter, but blurrier, like words on a page when he'd spent too long reading without his glasses. Looking down at the street, he blinked until the view came into focus, at least enough to make out the people moving through the street.

This was the official, sanctioned group, the Luperci who had conducted the ceremony in the Lupercal. No features of the runners themselves set them apart from the amateur priesthood that ran the streets - even if Wolfe had been able to make out such details from the tower, Rome had long since done away with the old requirement that Luperci be young men - but sunlight glinted off their golden crowns. They alone were permitted to wear crowns in memory of the one Mark Antony had offered to Julius Caesar on Lupercalia long ago. They ran in a blur of flesh in varied shades of brown and tan, their swinging _februa_ invisible from this height, and the crowd surged forward to meet them, shouting in exhilaration.

Even from this distance, Wolfe could feel the excitement. It swept like a gust of wind over him, and he laughed. Even to his own ears, he sounded drunk.

"Good view from up here, isn't it?" Nic said. He sounded pleased, if not as giddy as Wolfe.

_But of course_ , Wolfe thought with a twinge of guilt and a prickle of jealousy. _He likes to be in the thick of it._ Tilting his head up and back until he could see his lover's face, he said, "Yes, but you'd rather be down there, wouldn't you?"

He thought of Nic's laughter when the Luperci struck him, and he wished he hadn't asked.

But Nic was shaking his head, smiling down at Wolfe. "But then I wouldn't get to see you like this. You have no idea how beautiful you are right now, my love. I wouldn't trade this private celebration for anything." If there was any chance of doubt at his words, his kiss erased it. That was the kiss of a man deeply satisfied.

Aroused, too. Reaching behind him with a clumsy hand, Wolfe found his lover's erection, constrained by the fabric of his briefs. That was an injustice in immediate need of righting, if only he could get the obstructing garment out of the way. If he didn't lose his balance in the attempt, with the way the motion of his arm carried along his unstable legs.

"Easy now." Catching Wolfe's hand, Nic turned Wolfe so that they stood face to face, Wolfe's free arm fumbling its way around Nic's shoulders and Nic putting first one arm, then the other, around Wolfe's waist, steadying him. Holding Wolfe tightly, he eased them both down until they were kneeling, then sitting, Wolfe straddling Nic's lap. "Let's get you comfortable first," Nic said, and his weight shifted, reaching.

The cascade of cool, smooth silk over Wolfe's back took his breath away. Such an exquisite feeling. He hadn't realized until now just how soft his robe was. And then, even better, the warmth of Nic's arm around him. Better still, Nic's other hand rubbing his back, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He leaned his head on Nic's shoulder, groaning with pleasure even as his hands returned to their quest for Nic's cock. He was hard again by the time he got it free.

Nic pulled him in closer, until Wolfe's hands were crushed between their bodies and almost superfluous with cock rubbing against cock.

This second climax was a softer one, if soft was a word that could be used to describe an orgasm that came while wildly grinding his hips against his lover's with Nic's nails scratching lines of Greek fire into his back. He outlasted Nic, but only barely. He retained enough of his senses to feel Nic fishing in the pockets of the robe for a handkerchief to wipe them both clean and a corkscrew to open the wine he'd left within reach. Wolfe could not have accomplished either of those tasks himself.

It seemed a long time that he sat, boneless with exhaustion in Nic's arms, resting against Nic's chest while Nic rubbed his back and urged him to take sips of wine. He'd never tasted wine so good. Sweet mixed with bitter, rich and complex. The warmth of it radiated out from his stomach, mingling with the warmth of Nic's body and the delicious heat of Nic's gentle touch on his freshly beaten skin. Everything was hot and soft and hazy, and he basked in it, luxuriating in his own private revel.

And Nic smiled at him all the while. Nic, who could have been down among the crowds, who could have had his pick of lovers from that riotous sea of humanity, sat quietly smiling at him, pure adoration in his eyes. So green in the daylight. Green as agates, polished to a shine. His, all his. All Nic's beauty and strength and skill, his.

Full to bursting with love, Wolfe laid his head on his partner's shoulder and let his eyes drift shut. Later, when he recovered his senses, he was going to have to ask Nic for another lesson, this time with the flogger in Wolfe's own hand. He could not go without returning this favor.


End file.
